An English ftour

Living in Morocco and having many Moroccan friends you are constantly trying to find a balance. A balance between just about anything life throws at you. Sometimes I feel like I am living a double life. There are moments when I am so immersed in the culture hear that I find myself doing and experiencing things I would never have thought possible. For example, as a going on 17 year vegeterian I find myself transfixed to watching the ritual sacrifice of two lambs and a goat at L'Aid. Then sometimes I feel I could be sitting in any restaurant in Melbourne laughing with the girls about the not so beautiful aspects of childbirth that I am yet to experience, as I did last night - in Marrakech.



For the last 5 days I have had two moroccan friends staying with me in Marrakech. I have been working and coming home each day and battling my way through conversations in my limited arabic. They assure me that my arabic is 'izween'- beautiful, but I tend to disagree.

When I visit one of my friends I am always treated as a guest in their house, even though the whole family knows that after 2 years I am pretty much part of the furniture. Moroccan's hospitality never ceases to amaze me. It is unrelenting, so much so that to a certain extent I feel embaressed about the lack of assistance I give to my surrogate family. I put the shoe on the other foot and I think that in my own household I would probably throw a teatowel at my friend and say' Thanks for coming to dinner. I'll wash - you dry'

I had a brainwave. As I am on my homegorund I would finally be the one to reciprocate a speck of the last two years of hospitality that has been so generousy bestowed upon me.

First was the vegeterian lasagne. Now vegeterianism is not huge in Morocco. In fact I don't have one moroccan friend that doesn't eat meat. Most people think I'm crazy. I was nervous, here I was in the kitchen with an insanley good cook. The pressure was on. I chopped, I sliced, I stirred and I seasoned, and the overall verdict was pleasing. It must have been as it was enjoyed by my two friends for lunch the next day. Let's be honest lasagne is always best the next day.

This morning before the girls set out on yet another day exploring I cooked them a good old English breakfast. Complete with scrambled eggs, baked beans, toast and butter. I couldn't talk them into a white tea so it was served with mint.



This week has reminded me that two worlds can come together without much hoo-hah, little by little, and food is a great way to start.

Another year in Marrakech

Two months ago I returned to Morocco after 7 weeks back home in Australia. I always love going home but the excitement about getting back to my own home and my life in Morocco excited me by the end of the trip.

It was great going back and being a tourist in my own city and country. Above all else it was amazing to spend time with my lifelong friends and of course, my family.

Being two months back into life in Marrakech and I am exhausted! The social scene has really picked up a bit, hamdullilah, and work is well, as it always is just plain old hard work.

I am looking for more balanced approach to work here. Yes, they are long days and yes there are days potentially weeks sometimes when you do not hear the words thank you or great job by the power that be. I will not let this get me down though.

I have to remind myself daily that I have so many wonderful people in my life and I am loved, cared about and respected by those who matter the most.

Now it is time to continue writing the next chapter in my crazy life!

Vive le Maroc

Last night was insane in Marrakech. The streets were electrifying and the energy and happiness permeating from every inch of every persons body was a sight to be seen. It all came down to a little game we call soccer. But this was no ordinary game. Morocco beat Algeria 4-0 last night in Marrakech.

From Friday afternoon you could not get a quiet moment wherever you tried to hide. The streets were alive with sounds of honking,horn blowing, hooting, and hollering. It went late into the night and started again early Saturday morning. It didn't cease until game time. At half time it started up again when Morocco were 2-0 in front. As the final siren went people spilled onto the streets from cafes, bars and households. People hugged, people danced, people sang, and people did down right dangerous acts all to celebrate this monumental victory. Families zipping past on a scooter waving flags, young buff boys chanting passionately and even a young man stripped down to his underwear rejoicing on top of a car.



Friends and I joined the festivities dancing on the streets and furiously waving the Moroccan flag. Upon re entering the venue where we watched the game at we were dragged onto the dance floor by staff and proudly wrapped our adopted country, Morocco's flag around us waving four fingers in the air.



After an emotional and saddening couple of months succeeding the Cafe Argana explosion Morocco is once again alive with the sound of VIVE LE MAROC.

Mum and Dad do Morocco

I had been pleading with Mum and Dad for years to come and visit me while I was off living abroad. Dad has run a successful hands on business in Melbourne for the past thousand years and getting away was always difficult. As it is a family business Mum has always been very involved as well. However, this year was the year of the big R - Retirement year. I told them under no circumstances were they not going to travel the 30 hours from Australia to Morocco and share its wonders with me. I sourced cheap tickets for them both and told them to spend my part of the inheritance. It was time for Nev and Ron to dip their toes in the Atlantic.

I almost died of shock when they informed that they would actually be visiting me. I guess Morocco was a place they were always going to have to come to, after all, this is the country that stole their youngest child and only daughter who obviously has no plans on returning to Australia anytime soon.

So then what? Now I had to figure out how on earth I was going to preoccupy my Mum and Dad for 3 weeks. I did what I always do when confronted with a challenging situation. I wrote list, after list, after list. What sights to see, where to eat, where to shop, the lists went on and on and on!

Mum and Dad arrived a few days before my birthday and I was beside myself with excitement. I boarded the train to Casa and made sure I had enough to do for the 3-4 hour journey. Well that 3-4 hour journey became a 6 hour journey as there was some sort of trouble with another train. All passengers were offered a warm soft drink on an already hot day and told to wait, which we did.

Finally I arrived at the airport ten minutes late. In that 10 minutes Mum had already paid a guy 20 dirham to call and see where I was. They were looking extremely wide eyed when they saw me. They experienced customs first hand - shouting, queue jumping, shoving, and honestly just wanted to get out of the airport, quick smart.

We made a quick exit and spent out first night in Casablanca. Like the A1 tourist guide that I am we ate Italian in the hotel restaurant on our first night in Casablanca.

Upon arriving in Marrakech Dad was greeted with a 'Bonjour' on the street. Still a little jet lagged he shouted after me. "Hey, that man is saying something to me!" "What did he say, Dad?" I replied. "Bonjour?" Dad said. "Ugh, he's saying G'day!" I informed him. "Oh, righto!" Happy with that explanation we merrily continued to my apartment.

I didn't realise what a work out my arabic (however minimal) would get when Mum and Dad were here. To them I sounded like I was speaking fluently and they were extremely proud that their little girl could converse with the locals, give taxi drivers a hard time and make sure they didn't starve.

We took a little break from Morocco and flew to Italy at the start of my school holidays. Mum and Dad loved Rome and were amazed by the history of it all. For me better than all that was seeing Mum standing slap bang in the middle of a city she had learnt about all those years ago at her little catholic primary school in Melbourne and since then had wanted to visit.



England was great and luckily for Dad it was when Ponting resigned from his captaincy of the Australian cricket team. He felt very lucky as he was able to read an english paper and get the latest news. Also, he won't admit this but as I was dragging Mum up and down Oxford Street he was sitting back in the B&B watching all the soaps he gives Mum heaps about back home for watching. Every day when we would return we would get information on what scam the Dingles were pulling in Emmerdale or what was happening in the Vic on Eastenders.

After our week long jaunt in Europe is was time to return to Morocco. I was pleased about this because I wanted to take Mum and Dad to Essaouira, my favorite place (for many reasons) in Morocco. There we experienced the windy city, rain, wind, and shine. We were shown unbelievable hospitality by a friend's family and I do think the seaside town impressed them both. Maybe not as much as me, but definitely a little.



Next stop was Fes and we stayed in a friend's dar. This is the place I managed for 2 months and it was nice to stay there as a guest again. I introduced Mum and Dad to friends, good friends and I think it put Mum at ease to know that I would be ok and had amazing people there for me if my world came crashing down around me in Morocco. Fes is my refuge and I think it always will be. We explored the winding alleyways, smelly tannery and dodged touts successfully.



Having Mum and Dad here was certainly an experience and I am so glad that they came. Maybe it wasn't the place they had always dreamed of going to but they did it for me. Why? Because this place is my home now and it will always have a special place in my heart. I thank them for that tremendously.

Our Children

Today I did something that I have wanted to do for a long time, and not just in Morocco. I visited a homeless shelter for children. Today I visited Atfalouna in Marrakech.

Atfalouna literally means 'Our children' in Arabic. This centre is rightly named. Atfalouna caters to about 240 children in the Marrakech area. It is a small not for profit organisation that relies on people to feed, educate, vaccinate and bath children of all shapes and sizes.

There are two 'houses' in Marrakech. They sleep eight and twelve children respectively. The 'boys' house sleeps eight and the 'girls' house sleeps twelve, for now. The rest of the children that make up the 240 are still at home but often come to the facility to receive food, some sort of education and basic human necessities. During the day the boys and girls are free to come and go as they please between the two centres but when it comes time to turn out the lights they are separated.

Today, myself and two colleagues met with two workers at the centre. It was obvious that they needed money to keep the centre up and running or donations of food to keep stomachs partially full.

Upon taking a tour of the centre we found that they had an intervention room for children and their families as the ultimate aim of the centre is to re integrate them with their families when possible. They use 'educators' to facilitate this process but when they are not available they do it themselves.

They have a storage room for food and rely on donations from supermarkets such as Marjane to help fill their basic shelves. When asked what they needed most, both of them replied simultaniously meat, chicken and fresh fruit and vegetables. The children do not eat meat everyday here, and meat is one of the staple foods in any Moroccan household.

The centre of the house has a few tables and chairs which the children can sit around and socialise. At either side of the room are bunk beds to accomodate those kids that do not have a home to go to when the sun has set, their belly's are full and it is time to sleep. The house is cold especially at this time of year in Marrakech and they are provided with one blanket, a pillow and a sheet.

On our tour we met Lalla Aisha, a round woman with a cheerful face. We were told that she is the mother of the children and by the looks of her probably a pretty good cook also. The children enjoy cous cous every Friday and we were invited to come in and share a meal with the children whenever we wanted.

They have a small room with four computers that were donated by a spanish association and an even smaller classroom that seats up to 8 children. I took one look at the facilities in that room and had an instant appreciation for my whiteboard, even if it isn't magnetic. Rickety tables and chairs with a few tattered books piled in the corner and an ancient chalkboard that left me wondering if it had ever worked before.

There is a small library there too and the books look pretty much untouched. The centre is hoping to get more CD ROMS to use with their for computers.

We journeyed up to the terrace, where once again there were tables set out. Today, there was a British organisation that visits the shelter every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. There was an explosion of colour with everything from fluro pipe cleaners to an array of Crayola colouring pencils. The kids were enjoying the sunshine and chatting between themselves without an apparent care in the world. If only that were true.

Atfalouna have a vision. It is to identify the children that need them, orientate them with the centre and show them that they do have an option away from the streets of Marrakech. They focus on educating the children and assisting the children to develop skills that may see them gaining employment. The other vision is that they work with the children and try to integrate them back into their family environment. However, if needed the door is always open to them, even if it is a place to come and spend a few hours of the day.

Before I visited the shelter I read an article about what causes a child to find themselves on the street in Morocco in the first place. There could be a variety of reasons, for example, bad relationships, abuse and so on. I read one boys story that struck me and saddened me in the few paragraphs this article had dedicated to him and his story.

This young teenager left home because he did not want to burden his mother any longer. He saw her trying to fill the mouths of five siblings and decided to sacrifice his 'seat at the table' for the rest of his family. He left home and now lives on the street. He has a job with a fruit and veg seller that makes him a little money. He visits his family once a week but does not stay. He stays enough time to give his mother what he has made that week. After that he returns to the street.

There are so many stories like that and not enough shelters to house these children. That is when you find they turn to cheap drugs and bad habits, sniffing glue probably being the most prominent in Morocco.

Hamdullah, Atfalouna is taking the time to try and help these children and their families out.

I heart London

I consider myself to have had three homes in my lifetime so far. Australia will always be my home. It is where I grew up, achieved so many firsts and the only place I can truly make sense of. My current home, Morocco, amazes me, excites me and tests me everyday. My other home is London. It is where I lived for almost 3 years when I embarked on every Australians right of passage 'The Working Holiday Visa'
I have returned numerous times to London and most recently this Christmas. It is an amazing city and I really do love it. Here are some of the reasons why.


Unlimited shopping opportunities and outrageous Boxing Day sales.



A good old Christmas lunch.



The efficiency of the tube (on most occasions).



The Cornwall Pasty Co.



The famous red phone booth.

A Little Bit of Spain

I have just got back from a whirlwind trip to Valencia with a friend of mine. We decided that a 50 euro return trip for both of us was like looking a gift horse in the mouth and having missed out on Barcelona earlier in the year due to an expired passport (not mine!) we jumped at the chance for a weekend getaway.

Conveniently my friend had met an Argentine on a bus who was travelling to Valencia on the same flight as us and he had offered to get us from the airport to our hotel after our flight. This was very much appreciated as we didn't fly in until almost midnight. Rodolfo, our Argentine godsend was so helpful and promised to return the next evening for a tapas adventure.

After a much needed sleep we arose in the morning and the same question was on both out lips "What will we do now?" Eat was the general consensus. Hmmmmm, a buffet breakfast awaited us. It consisted of the usual pastries that you find in any patisserie her in Morocco, but what really got me excited was the selection I had to choose from of the things that you don't get so often in Morocco, for example, potato tortilla. Ahhhhhhhhh, the cuisine of another country had me felling like a kid at Christmas. I was overwhelmed.




We headed off to the Market Central where we found bright and shiny fruit and vegetable stands. Entire shops dedicated to strung up legs of ham, cheese, nuts, skinned rabbits and turkeys feet. The smells, sounds and sights of Market Central were well and truly welcomed. Of course, my search for some sort of command of darija had me naming every fruit and vegetable I could in arabic!

Shortly after, we headed down to the tourist information centre to obtain a decent map and plan our next move. With such a limited time in Valencia we had to plan our attack on the city with precision and careful planning! After leaving the office with map in hand and walking the wrong way for a couple of hundred metres, we finally got our bearings and decided to take bus no. 32 to the ville nouvelle/new city/ ciudad nuevo.

Once there we visited the complex which houses Valencia's City of Arts and Science Museum (Ciudad de las Artes y de las Ciencias). Here we bought tickets to largest aquarium (oceanographic) in Europe after randomly posing with street art sculptures we headed into the actual aquarium. This place was amazing. It had a number of exhibits to explore from Tropical fish to Artic sea creatures and we finished by viewing the dolphin performance in the Dolphinarium. After four hours of wandering through the grounds of the aquarium we thought it was best to pack it in and head back to the hotel.






A note awaited us from our faithful friend Rodolfo. It was time for tapas. We strolled through the clean, chilly and relatively quiet streets of Valencia in search of the best tapas bar. Trying to find the best tapas bar in Spain is not an easy task. There is a tapas bar on every corner and they all look deliciously inviting. We were early so we decided to head into one that had no customers at all. We perused the menu and ordered a couple of cokes. I don't know what the owner made of our non drinking ways but he was warm and friendly nevertheless. Probably the best thing about this guy was that he was the spitting image of the English comedian Ricky Gervais. I left thinking 'If I could understand what he was saying would I find him as funny too?'
As a vegetarian I am at a bit of a loss with traditional tapas bars. A lot of the food contains some sort of meat, whether it be seafood or red meat. Ricky was a gem though and made me beans with mint! Even in Spain beans and mint found me.

We continued to wander through the streets and were very impressed with the churches, buildings and calm that Valencia exuded. The night ended with a great meal at an Italian (I know, I know, please forgive me!) restaurant in Plaza de Reina called Parpadella.

After a good nights sleep and another buffet breakfast it was time to get physical. We had been recommended by friends of friends to climb the stairs of the Miguelete. When we entered the church mass was on and the hymns were being sung and the congregation was observing the Saturday morning service. It was a pretty church and it was a scene I had not seen in quite some time. Then the climbing commenced, thank goodness for hand rails as I may not have made it otherwise. I know my fitness is severely lacking at the moment, but I didn't think I was this bad. Huffing and puffing we got to a section where there was a selection of bells that I assume had once been used. I couldn't catch my breath to even attempt to ask the guy who worked there what all the bells were about! A few more stairs and we were at the top. The views were pretty impressive and was definitely worth the 2 euros. You got to see Valenicia from the east to the south to the west and north. Personally, I think that Valenicia is much more attractive from the ground.



Once again we met Rodolfo and a couple of hi friends and drove to a town near the coast called La Palmer. This town in the place to go for paella. Once again, being a vegetarian proved to be a pain in the backside as they did not make paellas for one unless you ordered the menu of the day. I did not fancy eating chicken and rabbit. We decided on the paella mariscos which is the seafood paella. It was a pretty impressive sight when it came out. It looked great and tasted pretty good too, even if I was hitting mussel and shrimp speed humps the whole way through. After lunch it was off to the beach. It was freezing there and I think we lasted about ten minutes - maximum. Only enough time to share an Argentinian mate and a couple of photos.



Now the moment we had been waiting for, shopping. I had pretty much had my shopping fix in London over Christmas but my friend was chomping at the bit. We hit Corte de Ingles first for a few staple items, enough chocolate to last a year and enough coffee to last two. Presents.

I was aware that we needed 25 minutes to get to the airport from Xativa metro. I like to be early, I think I inherited that gene from my mother. However, shopping with a man possessed left us with 20 minutes to get to the airport, check in, clear customs and get to our gate. The pressure was on. Backpacks and shopping bags flying we ran to the metro. We had to wait, very impatiently, behind three adolescents who were scraping the last change out of the wallets for tickets in what seemed like slow motion. Once we got to the airport we were running even faster, climbing over peoples luggage 'pardon, scusa, pleeeaassssseeee' were being blurted out repeatedly.

Hooray! we got to the check in desk only to be sent to another desk because of our non EU passports. Argggggghhhhhh! Go, go, go, move, move, move, run, run, run. I was going as fast as my little legs could carry me. We were almost there. All we had to get through was the bag check and boarding. I sailed through and was on my way only to see my friend getting padded down by security. Done, lets go! Oh no, my friend then got his shampoo confiscated!

Finally, we were free to board. Beads of sweat on our brow and out of breath for the second time that day, we collapsed into our seats. We were heading home.